


A Holiday of Sorts

by Johnismyloveforever64



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Dentistry, Hospitalization, Surgery, Wisdom Teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-05-14 06:56:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnismyloveforever64/pseuds/Johnismyloveforever64
Summary: John's wisdom teeth are coming in, and he'd like to keep this fact under wraps. He'd succeed but the oh-so caring Paul suspects something. Eventually, John finds out his wisdom teeth are severely impacted and could be infected. He's taken for emergency dental surgery; he finds that maybe being stuck in hospital for a few days won't be so bad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am back! I realized only today that I've been away for so long! I've got some ideas for some one-shots/short fics, so I should be posting more soon. Happy Birthday Paul btw!

It’s 1960, The Beatles are living in the back of the Bambi Kino, a large cinema in the St. Pauli district of Hamburg. They live in a small backstage area where they sleep on cots. The only bathroom they have is the cinema toilets, so they have to compete with customers to get to the toilet, and they have nowhere to do the washing up. John, Paul, George, and the new drummer Pete all crowd into the cinema toilets every morning in a futile attempt to wash-up. but soon enough they are all thrown out. Needless to say, they spend as much time away from the Bambi Kino as possible. 

It was late August, and John and Paul were enjoying the final days of summer. 

“I actually like the summer in Germany,” John said while lying on the grass in the park. Paul was lying beside him listening to music on a portable record player. 

“I guess it’s nice to actually have sun in the summer.”

“Not the English sun,” John added. It was at this precise moment that he first felt an unfamiliar twinge in his jaw. It was an odd feeling; like a sharp ache in the corner of his mouth just under his gums. He immediately knew it wasn’t a toothache, because none of his actual teeth were bothering him. He casually poked a finger back there and felt a small ridge under his gums. “My wisdom teeth,” he said aloud. 

“What?” Paul responded quizzically. 

“My wisdom teeth are poking through,” he explained continuing to rub the back of his gums. 

“Ooh,” Paul responded cringing. 

“What’s ooh? They’re teeth.”

“Most people have to get theirs out, and it can be very painful,” Paul replied casually. John looked on in horror. 

Gritting his teeth, John continued, “Well, I’m keeping mine. They can’t ‘urt, right?”  
Paul was going to object but decided against it. John decided he would never bring his wisdom teeth up ever again, and that’d he’d deny even having them if anyone asked. 

 

There was a teeny tiny problem with John’s plan, though, his wisdom teeth continued to push their way through his soft gums, and seemed to hold no mercy. For the next month, John continued to feel that same sharp ache day after day. Sometimes it’d only hit him once a day for like twenty minutes. He’d be sitting on the edge of his cot, listening to the pictures through the thin cinema walls, eating granola bar, and he’d feel it come on. But by the time he’d made it to cinema toilets to brush his teeth, the ache would be gone, and he’d forget about it the rest of the day. Sometimes this happened during shows. He’d be standing up on stage, the clock would be nearing 2 AM, he’d belt out a note, a wave of cold air would hit those small sensitive ridges in the back of his mouth, and he’d cringe. This happened a lot when he drank beer. One night, while chugging a cold lager, he felt each of his four wisdom teeth light up with that familiar sensitivity which is usually only reserved for cavities. It was then that he realized that his wisdom teeth held the same level of nuisance as nearly rotting teeth. He actually sneered when he had this revelation. 

“What has been up with you lately?” Paul asked. It was the last week of September, and the leaves were starting to turn colors. John had suggested they take a walk in the fresh air. Anything was better than sitting in the Bambi Kino all day. And despite the fact that taking walks made him feel like he was a fifty year-old bachelor walking with his adult roommate, the fresh autumn air was certainly a lot nicer than the putrid scent of buttered popcorn, and dull lighting of the backstage area (AKA their lodgings). 

“What do you mean?” He responded. He was having one of those toothaches at that moment, and he had to resist the urge to rub the area with his finger. 

“Well, every time you take a drink you cringe. And sometimes, I catch you rubbing your jaw.”

“And what have you settled on, Watson?” He responded tiredly--too tired to do their 1940s-actor-playing-Sherlock-Holmes voice. 

Paul gave him a knowing look and responded, “You have a toothache.”

“I actually don’t,” he said skating the edge between truth and lies. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. You’re acting how you act when you don’t wanna go to the dentist.”

John looked at him, truly baffled. 

“Um, what? I don’t act a certain way when I have to go to the dentist.”

“No, you do. Every time you have to go to the dentist, you become obsessed with your mouth. You’re always looking at your teeth, you brush for extra long periods of time, and you actually floss. And I’ve seen you floss--in those gross public sinks of all the places.”

“Okay, so you’re concerned because I’ve been taking care of my teeth.”

“No, I’m concerned because you don’t have a dentist appointment, so why are you preparing for one, John? That to me suggests something’s wrong with those teeth.” 

John became a little defensive. “Nothing is wrong with my teeth. But in case you were wondering, I am about due for a dental appointment, and even though I don’t have a dentist in Hamburg, I have been looking into one.” He lied evenly. 

“Okay,” Paul said after a pause, “in fact, I should probably go to.”

“Uh, what? No, that’s not necessary.”

“It kinda is. I have a loose filling, and I should really get it checked out. Maybe we can go together.”

“Sounds like a plan,” John replied forcing a smile. 

“I’ll ask Astrid if she has any recommendations.”

“Cool,” John responded. 

John could not feel less ‘cool’ at that moment. He was immediately on edge. 

 

That night, John, Paul, George, and Pete were trying to brush their teeth in the bathroom sinks. The cinema was closed for the night, but its lack of interlopers did not make it suddenly habitable. The custodian had yet to clean the place, so there was toilet paper littered across the floor, every surface was wet, and as these were the ladies’ toilets, the sinks were covered in powder. 

“This is makeup, right?” George wondered, holding his toothbrush aloft.

“That’s the conventional theory,” John responded with a mouthful of toothpaste. Surprisingly, despite his mouth full, he still managed to deliver it with his signature dry wit. 

George, grimacing, wet his toothbrush under the faucet and tried not to touch the stuff. 

“I don’t know what you lot are on about,” Pete responded, rinsing his toothbrush. “It’s just a bit of powder. It can’t hurt us.”

“But what if we catch something?” Paul replied. “In places like this, you can catch something rotten.”

“Exactly, but none of us have coughed up blood,” John added, “indicating to the audience that we are dying of tuburcelosis. So, why are we fretting?” 

“Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it won’t happen. I mean, how many times have we had to go down to the clinic to get penicillin?”

“Three times,” Pete respond. 

“Four for me,” John replied. 

“Twice,” George added, suddenly feeling insecure about the amount of times he’s caught the clap. 

“Well, I’ve already done it three times, and that’s really only the start of it. If one of us catches siffilus, we can be hospital for weeks--months even if they don’t catch it early.”

“But we’re not going to catch siffilus from a bathroom sink,” Pete pointed out. 

“You actually can,” George explained, “The germs can enter your body from a soft opening like our mouths.”

“So, we won’t press our mouths to the faucet--simple as that, Paulie,” John replied. 

“But Rory Storm’s drummer caught TB, and he says he got it from one of the bathrooms ‘round here.”

George cut in. “I’m with Paul on this one. That Rory Storm drummer’s gonna be out of commission for months, and it’s all because his toothbrush fell into the bathroom sink.”  
Just then, John dropped his toothbrush in the bathroom sink. He was going to pick it up and comically begin brushing his teeth with it, but he pictured Rory Storm’s drummer, a tough bloke with a gray streak in his coiffed brown hair, as a late-19th century turbeclosis patient, pale, skeletal, and coughing up blood into a fancy handkerchief. John shuddered at the image. He then tossed his toothbrush in the trash and made a mental note to buy a new one the next day. 

 

In the morning, John rushed out and bought another toothbrush. When he returned, Paul was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, and John joined him. John began brushing with such vigor that Paul thought that he was going to bend the brand-new bristles back permenantly. 

“Oh yeah, you are definitely preparing for a dental appointment.”

“We’ve been over this,” John reminded him. “And the two of us will go--at some point.” 

“But you must be really concerned.”

“Not particularly. Well, I am concerned about the language barrier. They already talk in their little code, keeping you out of the loop. But this gives them a whole new level of secrecy.”  
Paul gave him a knowing look. “Do you think you have a cavity? Are hiding a toothache.”

“Okay, and if I was, what would I be doing, trying to brush it away?”

Paul couldn’t think of a comeback to that, but he knew he would later.  
In actuality, John could not brush his back teeth very effectively, as even the slightest pressure was bothersome, so he knew he was bound to get a cavity in at least one of his back teeth. Thus, he tried to brush his front teeth that much more to prevent cavities in those teeth--to reduce the amount of cavities overall. 

“Anyway,” John continued, “I think I appointed you to ask Astrid when and where we can see a dentist, so failing to get us there is on you.”  
Again, Paul was silenced, but he did have a plan.


	2. To the Dentist--I Guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul keeps his word and drags John to the dentist, but the source of his wisdom teeth pain remains a mystery.

Later that day, he arrived at Astrid’s doorstep with a mission. 

“I need your help,” Paul said, standing out in the rain. Astrid, assuming it was an actual emergency, rushed him inside. She made him a cup of tea and sat with him at her kitchen table. “We need a dentist.”

“Why? Do you have a toothache? If so, I’m not sure if my dentist can squeeze you in. He doesn’t take that many emergency appointments.”

“Sort of--well, not really. I have a loose filling. And I need to get it fixed before it turns into something serious.”

“Well, I can give you the name of my dentist,” she said, “He’s very good.”

“Will John like him?”

“Is that code for ‘is he a kindly middle-aged Jewish man that John knows for a fact isn’t a Nazi’?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied with a slight eye roll. 

“Dr. Feldman will be perfect,” she said with a wink. “But why does it matter if John likes him?”

“This was all John’s idea.” 

Astrid looked surprised. 

“John, really? He’s doing something responsible--that involves pain?”

“Shocked me too.” 

After rifling through her roladex, she handed Paul a business card with Dr. Feldman’s information on it. As soon as Paul got out on the street, he called Dr. Feldman’s office and made an appointment for John and himself.   
John was not thrilled when Paul told him. 

“You did what? You actually went through with it?”

“You told me to,” Paul responded innocently enough. “But the way you’ve been brushing, you should be fine.”

John shook his head. 

“No, I’m good.”

After telling the receptionist about his loose filling, they were able to get an appointment for later that week. John was not happy. 

“And you’re certain he’s Jewish,” John said on the way there. It was pouring down rain, and every few minutes they’d hear thunder crackling in the distance. 

“Even if he wasn’t, that doesn’t mean he’s a former Nazi.”

“Just want reassurance, mate,” John replied. John had gone a bit green. In fact, he’d been looking green ever since breakfast--of which he ate none of. 

“His name is Feldman. And besides, Astrid said he’s a nice bloke. He’s got two kids, one of them’s at uni, the other is about 14, and a lovely wife. And guess what, they’re not even Hamburguese.”

“They’re not?”

“He’s Scottish! Can you believe it! We found ourselves a British dentist in Germany.”

“So, no language barrier then?” 

“Nope, none.”

John had to admit, this was marginally better than he pictured. 

“Well, did she say if he has assimilated?”

“In what respect, John?”

“To the culture of torture.”

Paul chuckled. “You’re nuts, you know that.”

“I’m aware, now can we call off whatever weird poker match we’ve been in for the past week and just go home.”

“So, you admit you have something to hide.”

“I admit that I don’t want to go to the dentist,” John replied, beginning to look very jittery. “And that perhaps, I wasn’t looking to go to the dentist after all. So, can we call this off, now please? Come on, we’re only a couple blocks away.” 

“Okay, then why have you been acting weird? The brushing, the flossing, the grimacing?” 

“I don’t grimace,” he said. 

“You do it every time you eat,” Paul explained, “and if you drink a beer, you cringe--like properly cringe. Now, what is it? A rotting tooth.”

“No way, you know I have all my teeth,” John replied, offended. 

“Well, it has to be a cavity,” Paul answered. 

“I somehow doubt that,” John replied slyly. 

They had reached the intersection. Dr. Feldman’s office was just on the other side. The light was red, and they were free to pass, but they both just stood on the sidewalk. 

“If there is something wrong, you have to get it checked before it turns to something worse.”

“Do you want me to make this appointment?”

“Of course,” Paul replied. 

John sighed heavily. With an eye towards Dr. Feldman’s office, he very reluctantly said, “Fine.” And he marched across the street with Paul at his heels. 

 

The pair sat side-by-side in Dr. Feldman’s waiting room. His office was the bottom floor of a two-story row house. The waiting room was essentially a living room complete with a fireplace, a mantle, and an armchair by the fire. John had placed himself in that chair, facing the fire and moping. Paul was sat on a wooden chair at his side. He faced the opposite wall. He had a magazine and his lap. He tried to suppress a smirk but failed. He had finally tricked John into going to the dentist, and he’d have his teeth fixed at last. 

John, meanwhile, was seething. He knew after today his little charade would be over. His wisdom teeth would end up somewhere in Dr. Feldman’s garbage disposal, and John would be left with the horrifying memories. He wondered if he could get shell-shocked   
from a dental appointment. He cringed at the thought.

“See,” Paul said, failing once again to suppress a smirk, “You’re cringing.”

“I’m cringing at the thought of seeing a dentist.”

“He’s a good dentist,” Paul reassured him. 

“Yes, very good at torture--the best a torture.”

Paul rolled his eyes. 

“That’s not what the means.”

“It’s implied.” 

Just then, the nurse came out from the back and called them both in. When they arrived in the surgery, an aging bald-headed man was sitting beside the chair blowing up latex gloves.   
“Uh, hi?” John said, sitting in the open chair next to the chair. Paul, somewhat reluctantly, sat in the dentist chair. “Hello John, Paul,” he said, shaking each of their hands vigorously. They could immediately hear that Scottish accent. “I was just, uh, passing the time. My last appointment canceled because of the storm, and I’ve been sit here for an hour.”  
John silently wondered, then, why they had to wait ten minutes after signing in. 

“In fact, the one after me canceled, so, Paul, if your filling really needs fixing, we can take care of that today. And John, if you have any work to be done, I can take you as well.”

“Great,” John responded through a tight smile. 

“So,” the doctor continued, sliding on a pair of latex gloves, “I’m guessing Paul wants to go first.”

He nodded and opened his mouth. The doctor poked around his mouth for a little while. Paul lied there, looking cool as cucumber. John looked incredibly nervous despite not being in the chair.   
The nurse kept passing the doctor sharper and sharper tools. John looked on in horror.   
Finally, the doctor pulled away. 

“Your filling is a little loose, but I don’t see any signs of infection or decay which is good. We’ll X-ray it to make sure, though.” 

The nurse took Paul into another room, and the doctor left then. John was left alone. He thought momentarily about running out, but he knew he’d get shit for it for the rest of his life. So, he stayed put.   
He just stayed in his chair, swiveling back and forth, and staring into space. He tried not to think about the X-rays he’ll inevitably need and what he’d find on there. His impacted wisdom teeth would be there, possibly all crooked--as John imagined them to be--and it would be an immediate call to action on Dr. Feldman’s part. He’d be grateful the next patient canceled, as he’d have to take John immediately. And in a shower of blood and pain, John’s teeth would be out.   
As consolation, he tried to focus on the fact that Paul, after forcing him into this, was guaranteed to suffer--though, this didn’t really give him much comfort either. 

Five minutes passed, and no one had returned. John began to study the tools laid out for him. His tray was wrapped in cellophane and placed on the counter. Paul’s was opened and all the many hooks were splay across it. They looked so horrifying, sticking out in every which way. Some were very thick, some long and thin. Some were curved, others were straight. And they were all set out for John. And he knew, based on cartoons he’d seen, that what lies in store for an extraction is far worse. In his mind’s eye, he could see the pliers. And he felt his hands start to cramp up and his stomach turning in knots.  
He looked up at the clock: twelve minutes. 

Paul returned then. Despite being X-rayed for twelve minutes straight, he looked surprisingly cavalier. John had to pry. 

“What did they do?” 

“They took so many X-rays. I think they took like twenty. And they had to take this one that goes all the way around your head. It’s like a machine that you step into.”  
John grimaced.

“That sounds enjoyable,” John said flatly. “Can’t wait to get started on that.” After a lull, John continued, “Where’s the doc?”

“Developing my X-rays. He says as soon as they’re done, you’re next.” 

And then, John thought, my fate will be sealed. 

After another lull, Paul said, “It wasn’t so bad you know, the exam. Dr. Feldman’s surprisingly gentle. I could barely feel what he was doing half the time.”

“This is the easy stuff,” John reminded him. “You have not seen him at his worst.”

“Well, if you’re lucky, you won’t see him at his worst.”

“Which is, in your opinion?”

“What? The worst dental procedure? Most would say a root canal, and my mother always said it was a root canal--and assured me that her opinion was coming from a medical professional and thus right. But my dad had to get like nine teeth pulled once, and I remember him telling me how brutal it was. He took his new dentures out and described the pushing and the pulling, the crunching and the grinding. So, yeah I’d say extraction.”  
All the color had drained from John’s face. 

“Uh, Johnny? You okay?” 

The door swung open, and Dr. Feldman and the nurse came in. He was holding a thick file folder containing two black sheets of film. One was covered in squares containing close up pictures of Paul’s teeth, and the other had the full set. 

“Paul, I see you haven’t got your wisdom teeth yet,” Dr. Feldman said, hanging up Paul’s X-rays. 

“Is that concerning?”

“No, it’s a relief. It means we don’t have to worry about them yet.”

Paul looked infinitely relieved. 

“Though, John’s are coming in.”

John looked at him as if he had just Benedict Arnold’d him. 

“Munich!” John shouted. 

“For the last time, that is not what Munich is!” Paul shot back. “And I was just making conversation. Besides, what’s the big deal. You’ve only made a fuss about them that one time.”

“You made a fuss?” 

All eyes were suddenly on John. He gulped. 

“I wouldn’t say it was a fuss. I just felt a tiny bit of pressure, and poking around my mouth, I realized that they were coming in. That’s all.”

“So, they don’t bother you at all?”

“No—so, what about Paul’s loose filling? Can we make with the drilling already.”

“Ah yes,” Dr. Feldman continued, “I suppose we have all the time in the world to discuss your teeth, Mr. Lennon. Let’s focus back on McCartney here.”  
Paul seemed a tad disappointed but opened his mouth anyway. The doctor poked around some more, focusing on that loose filling. John noticed Paul was wincing ever so slightly. 

“Sensitive?”

“A bit,” Paul responded. The nurse responded by sucking away all of Paul’s spit. He wasn’t sure how that helped--or if it was meant to. 

“Well, that’s normal with a loose filling. Nurse, prepare Paul’s tray. We’ll take him right after John’s exam.”

To that, Paul gulped. He was then instructed to get up from the chair. John, staring off into space, didn’t realize this until everyone in the room was staring at him. He then quickly hopped into the chair and opened his mouth.   
“Nurse, can I get a pick over here,” she handed him a long a thin tool that stuck out like a dagger. John stared at it with wide eyes. The doctor poked around his mouth with it. John, to his relief, didn’t feel much at all. The doctor then reached for another tool, used that for a while, made a few remarks about plaque build-up, then switched to a long curved tool. “I have good news,” he said after a while. 

“Ahwe-wa?” He responded, which John meant to come out as ‘ah, what?’ 

“You don’t have any cavities.”  
John breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

“Let’s just take a look at those wisdom teeth, and you’ll be done.” That took the air right out of John’s lungs. 

“First, let’s take an X-ray. It’s a bit hard to examine them when they are below the surface like that,” the doctor explained. 

John, his heart pounding, stood up. He marched to the door, and was about to cross the threshold when they heard a massive clap of thunder. The lights flickered, then went out. An old woman screamed from the waiting room.   
The receptionist barged into the exam room. 

“Doctor, a tree just broke and hit the power lines. The whole street is down.”

“Get the electrician on the phone.”

He was about to run out of the office, but he turned back and called out, “Lennon, schedule another appointment. We’ll do your X-rays, then.”

“Will do, doc,” he said, skating right passed him and running out the door. When he was out on the street, he felt an enormous sense of relief. Paul, then chased after him. 

“You,” he panted, “are not,” he paused and took a deep breath, “getting out of this!” 

“And the next time I pass through those doors, you’ll be right behind me, getting your sensitive little tooth drilled.”

Paul froze, his eyes wide. Silently, he just walked passed John, and somehow John knew that he had won whatever weird poker game they were in.


	3. Where Are We Off to Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally sees about his wisdom teeth, and the results are somehow worse than he predicted.

Three weeks passed since the appointment. Neither John nor Paul spoke about it. Astrid did ask how they liked Dr. Feldman, and both said that he was nice but didn’t elaborate. Paul’s loose filling still bugged him sometimes, but it was definitely manageable. It was more of an annoying feeling than actual sensitivity. And least now he knows there’s nothing wrong with it. John, though, was feeling worse with each passing day. The ache, which had come and gone in the passed, was now constant. It kept him awake at night, and during the day, it was unbearable. He started eating oatmeal for every meal. He even found a giant bag of grits at the market, and he’s been cooking it up on their hotplate every day. He just puts a little cheese in there, and that’s his breakfast and lunch. 

Not even Paul has commented on his strange new diet. Pete thinks he’s trying to be slimmer. He hasn’t brought this up as he knows John would deny it instantly. It’s not really macho to fret about your waistline. George thinks John has laryngitis which is why John has opted out of singing most numbers. The truth is John’s jaw is too sore to be holding out whole notes and making key changes. So, he sticks to silently playing guitar like he’s the moody one. But when John speaks, he speaks clearly, so George doesn’t that is quite it. Paul knows for a fact it has something to do with John’s teeth, but every time he works up the nerve to say something, he gets a small twinge in his lower left molar, and he shuts right up.   
John wasn’t sure how much longer this was going to last. He hoped that maybe these were growing pains. Maybe in a month or two, his new teeth would settle in, and the pain would be gone. And he figured he’d grit his teeth and give it a shot at least. It was better than facing the shower of blood and extreme pain. The dull ache he feels, he reminds himself on the daily, is not nearly as bad as whatever the pliers can bring. Besides, this toothache is hardly traumatic, he thought, and an extraction surely will be. 

Late one October morning, John and Paul were walking along the Alster. 

“Do you wanna pretzel?” Paul offered. His tooth wasn’t overly sensitive to hot things. John, though, thought of the pressure a hard pretzel would put on his jaw. He shook his head. “Why? Aren’t you tired of grits and porridge?”

“It’s healthy.”

“Since when do you care about health?”

“When I found out it was cheaper than buying granola bars every day. Besides, I like the taste. It’s nostalgic.”

“Yes, I can so see Mimi cooking up some grits. Now come on, I feel like a soft pretzel, and I know if you don’t buy one, in about five seconds you’ll start taking pieces off of mine.”

John knew he had a point.   
Sighing, “Get me one.”

Paul returned with the pretzels. John took a small bite. “Wow,” he said to himself. He took a much bigger bite. He recoiled, screamed out in pain, and dropped the pretzel in the process. 

“What happened?”

“It’s my jaw--well, sort of. It’s the way I bit into it. It just hurts.”

Paul gestured him towards the bench. John sat on the bench, holding his jaw with his hand. Paul looked on in concern. 

“John, were you lying before, is there something wrong with your tooth?”

“No, Paul. He said I don’t have any cavities.”

“Then it’s--” Paul’s widened as realization crossed his face. “No,” he said quietly. “No, no, no, not you.” 

“But you dragged me to the dentist.”

“I thought you had a cavity! And if it wasn’t a cavity, then maybe something wrong with one of your fillings. And after your exam, I thought maybe it was something the X-rays had to find. But I’d thought maybe it was your wisdom teeth, but I hoped it wasn’t.”

“Well, it is,” John replied. "It's my wisdom teeth. They're messed up--somehow." He pulled Paul into a hug. “I’m okay,” he reassured him. “I mean, it’ll be bad--awful even--but I won’t actually die.”

Paul sighed. “What do we do?”

“I think this it, Paul. I think I’m at my breaking point. I mean, I can’t even eat a pretzel. All I’m eating is porridge. Maybe,” he groaned, “It’s time I take care of it.” 

 

Once Dr. Feldman heard about John’s wisdom teeth, he told them to come in immediately. He cleared his whole morning for him. When John found out about that, he went into a minor panic. 

“He thinks it’s that big of a deal?” John was sitting on his bed in the Bambi Kino. Paul had just made the call, John had spent the entire phone call clutching his thin, Union Jack blanket. 

“Apparently, wisdom teeth extractions can take a long time,” Paul replied. 

John groaned for a very long time. Paul looked at him sympathetically. 

“It’s going to hurt so much,” he whined. 

“I know,” Paul replied, “I know and I’m so sorry.” 

John and Paul sat together for a few moments. Even though his appointment was in 20 minutes, neither one of them wanted to move. 

“I wish it weren’t you,” Paul said after a while. 

“Do you wish it were yourself?”

“No, I’m not stupid.”

They both laughed. 

 

A short while later, John and Paul arrived at the dentist. The Union Jack was still wrapped around his shoulders. When the receptionist saw him, she rushed right over to him. 

“Mr. Lennon, we have everything set up for you. You can go right in.”

“Can I come along?” Paul asked. 

“You can stay for the X-rays and the exam, but after that you’ll have to go.” 

Paul agreed that that was fair, and John was grateful that Paul was coming along--even for only a short time. 

“Are you ready, John?” Paul asked. He knew he had no choice but to say yes. He had put it off for months, and all the while he’s only gotten worse. It was time. 

When John and Paul arrived in the surgery, they expected it to look much the same as it did last time--a couple of trays set up. In fact, there were about four trays set up, each piled high with sharp dental tools. John stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that, burrowing into his blanket. 

“Is all that for me?” He asked quietly. 

Dr. Feldman was sitting beside the chair, pulling some tools out of plastic wrap. Looking up, he replied, “No, not all of it. But we just have to be prepared. Now, take a seat.”  
His legs shaking, he slowly made his way to the chair. When he sat down, he spread the blanket over him. Paul sat beside him, a hand outstretched and resting on John’s arm. 

“The last time you were here, you said everything was fine.”

“I may have been lying.” John replied sheepishly. 

“Well, it’s not the first time I’ve been lied to,” the doctor replied, smirking. John smiled a little. “Now, John,” Dr. Feldman continued, “tell me about this pain you’re experiencing.” 

“It’s this sharp ache in the back of my mouth. It used to be off and on, but now it’s constant.”

“He can’t really eat,” Paul added. “He’s just been eating porridge.” 

“It’s sensitive,” John explained. “It’s just any amount of pressure is too much.” 

The doctor took this all in. “Let’s take a look,” he said after a pause.   
John opened his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. The doctor examined each of his wisdom teeth carefully. He tried not to put too much pressure on them, but every so often, he’d make John wince. 

“Okay,” he said, pulling away, “we’re going to need to take some X-rays.” 

Paul had to stay behind while he got his X-rays. The X-rays, though, were rather quick. The doctor just wanted to X-ray his back teeth and his jaw, so he only had to do handful of small ones and one panoramic one. 

He returned about 10 minutes later, looking quite pale. Paul asked what was wrong. 

“It wasn’t horrible,” he said, sitting back down in the chair. “It’s just that I’m one step closer.” 

Paul squeezed his arm. 

“I wish you could stay,” John continued, “because I really don’t think I can do this alone.” 

“I would gladly stay--I mean, I might pass out, but I’d be willing to try. Obviously, it’s not possible.” 

“So, I’ll just have to be alone.” 

John looked absolutely miserable. Paul looked doe-eyed and sad.  
After waiting about fifteen minutes, Dr. Feldman returned. 

“Lennon,” he said slowly, sitting on a stool beside him, “I have taken a look at your X-rays, and your wisdom teeth are severely impacted.” He showed him the X-rays. He could see two rows of perfectly straight teeth, and in each corner was a wisdom teeth, buried under the gumline, turned sideways. 

They’re sidewys!” John exclaimed. “I didn’t know that was possible!” 

“They are putting a lot of pressure on your second molars which is the reason for the pain. Thankfully, your second molars are unharmed. But, we will have to remove them today if you want to avoid any damage to the surrounding area.”

The color drained from his face. He looked at the X-rays in horror, imagining just how difficult it was going to be to get those out. 

“John, I can’t take out these teeth.”

John looked at him in confusion. Paul sat at his side, squeezing his arm and looking incredibly worried. 

He explained,“This is going to require surgery.” 

“Surgery?” He said breathlessly. “I-I have to get s-s--”

“Surgery!” Paul exclaimed. He too had gone quite pale. 

“I’ll have the nurse call the hospital, tell them to expect you.”

“Wait, now? I have to do this now.”

“John, you’re skating on the edge of a serious infection. This is an emergency.”

“Emergency surgery? I have to get emergency surgery.” He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He wiped them away. “I really, really don’t want surgery,” he said thickly. “I-I’ve never had it before. I’ve never even been in hospital.” Paul pulled him in for a hug, though he looked just as upset as John. 

Doctor, are you sure there is no other way? I mean, you were going to do it.”

“I didn’t know how serious it was. Now, both of you are just going to have to relax.”

The nurse rushed off to bring them some water. Dr. Feldman told them both to take deep breaths.   
Once John had his water and had calmed down a little, the doctor said, “This operation is not very serious. You will be absolutely fine.” 

“I know. I know I’m young and healthy and will live to see another day and all those cliches. But I’m just so afraid of going under the knife.”

A lot of people are. Fear of surgery is very common and perfectly normal especially if it’s your first.” 

John nodded, but he didn’t feel any better. 

“But, look on the brightside,” Dr. Feldman continued, “If I were doing the surgery, you’d have to get all these shots. You’d have to sit through the whole procedure. Now, you’ll get to sleep through all the worst parts.”  
John brightened up. 

You’re right, I do get to sleep through it. It’ll be painless. Man, that’s a relief.”

While John was feeling a bit better, Paul was still just as a upset.

“But you still have to go under," Paul pointed out. 

“I know, and that’s scary, but honestly, it may be better than facing this horrifying set up,” he said gesturing to the nearest tray that was covered in dental tools. He even picked up a pair of pliers and said, “Like, I do not want to be conscious when the doc starts using these.” He picked up another long dental tool that looked like a screwdriver. “This would literally be hell on earth, and I get to nap through it.”   
Paul, reluctantly, had to agree.

“But if Dr. Feldman was doing it, then I wouldn’t have to worry much. Like, yeah I’d worry you were in pain and probably being tortured, but I would know that you were okay. And when you’re in the operating theater, I’m not gonna know.” He started to get a little upset. John pulled him in for a hug. 

“I know, I know this is going to be so shit,” John agreed. 

Paul sort of laughed. When Paul finally pulled away, Dr. Feldman said, “I think it’s time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy McLennon Day! Enjoy another chapter in John's wisdom teeth saga!


	4. Parting Ways (For a Couple of Hours)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is taken to hospital for his surgery.

When John walked into the hospital waiting room, he was dragging Paul behind him. John was driven forward only by the gnawing pain in his jaw which was only getting worse. Paul had nothing driving him forward, so he moved slowly and had to practically be carted to hospital. 

Walking up to the front desk, John introduced himself, and told the receptionist about his wisdom teeth. She informed him that Dr. Feldman’s office called and that the doctor will take him right away. A wheelchair was presented to him, and he eyed it suspiciously. 

“Can I walk?”

“Hospital policy,” the receptionist replied. John sneered and got in it anyway. Paul stood at his side. 

“Can I come with him?” He demanded anxiously. 

“Unfortunately, you have to stay down here. But you’ll be able to visit him later.” 

“So, this is where we part?” John asked. Paul nodded looking ready to burst into tears. John stroked his hair. “I love you, okay? I love you, and I will see you in a short while.” John said. 

“I don’t wanna leave you,” Paul cried, “It doesn’t seem fair.” 

“It’s not. It’s dumb and it’s stupid, and my rebellious instincts are telling me to defy it somehow, but that’s not going to happen.” He looked ready to cry too. “God, it’s just wisdom teeth.” He tried to laugh. “Maybe, it’s not this dramatic.”

“Still going under the knife,” Paul reminded him, “but I know what you mean.”

John hugged him one more time. Paul kissed the top of his head. He wrapped the Union Jack around his shoulders, and then took a step back. The nurse began to pull John away. John looked alarmed. As the nurse pulled him through the double doors, John looked longingly at Paul who watched him go with big, sad eyes, his lip quivering. 

 

John was taken to an emergency ward upstairs. There three other beds in the room, but all of them were empty. The nurse pushed him through the double doors, and he was told he could get up. Whispering, ‘finally’, he hopped on the first open bed he saw and pulled the Union Jack around him. The nurse asked him to hold out his arm; reluctantly, he stuck his arm out, and she took his blood pressure. 

“You’re blood pressure is a little high, but that’s to be expected when you’re nervous.”

She said the same thing about his pulse. After she was done her checks, the doctor came in. He was a tall German bloke with blonde hair and light green eyes. 

“Hello John, I’m Dr. Meyers. I am an oral surgeon. I understand you have some impacted wisdom teeth.”

“Yes, four to be exact,” he replied. 

“Well, this should be no problem at all,” he said looking at a file. Apparently, the nurse sent over his X-rays. The surgeon took a long look at them and then said, “We’re going to take a few X-rays of our own if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” John said quietly. He was taken into a radiology lab where he had to lie on a long white table. The nurse positioned a machine over his head, and he was told to lie still and wait. They took several X-rays, and then directed him to another room. He stepped into a machine similar to the one Dr. Feldman had. He was told to bite down on a tiny white square. With a beep, the machine turned on, and these white panels spun around his head. Once that was done, he was taken back to his room.

“Is that everything?” John asked hopefully. 

“Well, there are a few more things to go over. First and foremost, hold out your arm.”

“Oh no, why?” The nurse pulled out a very long needle attached to a long tube. 

“Can’t you just cut me open without all this?” John whined. The nurse chuckled and began prepping his arm.

“Ready?” She asked. He nodded, and she stuck the needle in his arm. He squared. Then a thin stream of blood rushed down the tube. John watched it with wide eyes. 

“Don’t look,” the doctor said, but it was obviously too late. 

After they’d taken several vials, they took the needle out. The doctor then asked John to open his mouth, and John complied. The doctor examined his teeth much the same way Dr. Feldman had done, and he was starting to feel like seeing Dr. Feldman was more of a detour than a necessity. 

“John, do you have any questions about the surgery?” 

“Yes, is it serious? I know Dr. Feldman said it wasn’t, but he’s just a regular dentist. He’s not a surgeon. I’m not entirely sure he knows what he’s talking about.”

Dr. Meyers was a bit amused by this. He said, “It’s a minor operation. We will be making a few incisions, and you will need stitches, but it is a low-risk surgery.”

“Stitches?” he grimaced. 

“They’ll dissolve after a week,” the doctor responded. “So, I have some questions for you as well,” he said pulling out a little pad, “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Well, I was sick of the porridge, so I skipped breakfast this morning. I bit into a pretzel, but I spit it out, so I guess it was about 11:30 last night.”

“Perfect,” the doctor said, writing something down on his pad. “And how are you feeling today? Are you feeling well?”

“Other than the seering pain in my jaw, I’m good.” 

The doctor asked him a few more questions, then said, “Alright, in just a few moments, we’re going to take you down to the operating theater. I will meet you there. In the meantime, the nurse will help you get ready.”  
The doctor left then. He turned to the nurse who was checking his charts. 

“Nurse, what’s your name? I should probably know you’re name if you are going to be treating me.”

“It’s Viola,” she answered. 

“That’s a nice name: Nurse Viola,” he continued, “Nurse Viola, are you going to stick me with more needles?” 

She shook her head. “Not right now at least.”

“So, what is supposed to be happening right now?” He asked. 

She told him to go in the bathroom, put on a hospital gown and come back. After doing just that, he sat back on the bed and looked at her expectantly. 

“I’m also supposed to ask you what you want for supper.”

“Wait what?”

“Just think about what you may want. We have sausage, ham sandwiches, rice, plantains, fish fingers, custard, and milk, tea, or orange juice to drink.” 

“I guess sausage, custard, and tea.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” she said, writing in a pad. 

“So, after I pick my meal is that,” he took a deep breath, “it?” 

She nodded. 

She briefly left the room, and when she returned two other nurses were behind her. They were wheeling a stretcher. He looked at in horror. 

“Actually, can we forget everything? Maybe my teeth will just fall out on their own, right?” He responded nervously. 

“Come on, it’s not that scary,” Nurse Viola coaxed, “It’s just a flat bed on wheels. Right, Cassandra?” The nurse behind him nodded. 

“It’s not the bed that scares me. It’s the destination.”

Just then, one of the nurses handed him a little pill in a cup. 

“It’s valium,” Cassandra said. “Take it. You’ll feel better.”

He took the pill, but it took about five minutes to kick in. By then, he was feeling a bit more relaxed. 

“Okay,” he said somewhat reluctantly, “Let’s get this over with.” 

He was taken up to the eighth floor. The room was only a few doors away from the elevator. They passed through a pair of double doors to get inside. The room was nothing like John had pictured it. It looked like a dental surgery with blue tiled walls, a massive overhanging lamp, and a chair at the center of the room which looked just like a dental chair. He sat down it, feeling only slightly out of his element. Dr. Meyers was stood beside him along with a small team of doctors and nurses. They were all in blue scrubs. “Hi, John,” Dr. Meyers said. “How are you feeling?” 

“Pretty good,” John replied. By then, the valium was really kicking in. The worries he’d had were slipping away. 

“I think we can get started,” Dr. Meyers said. John was then wrapped in a dark blue smock. His whole body was covered except his face. His hair was covered in what he described as cellophane. 

One doctor came up and stood next to his head. He introduced himself as Dr. Naveen. “I’m your anesthesiologist,” he explained. He asked John a few questions, and then told him that everything was good to go. “Now, hold out your arm.” John stuck his arm out from under the smock. He knew whatever this was it was going to be bad. Nurse Viola wiped down his arm with a yellowish liquid. The doctor then stuck a very long needle in his arm. John cringed. This was then hooked up to a long tube. “The IV,” John whispered. “I really hoped I’d never have to have one.” 

Once the IV was set up, he started to feel even loopier. 

“Do I need to keep my mouth open?” He asked one of the nurses after waiting a few moments.   
“We’ll take care of that,” Dr. Meyers informed him. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. Just lie there and stay relaxed.” 

John sleepily nodded. 

“Now, John,” Dr. Meyers continued, “Before we go any further, do you have any more questions?” 

“Yes,” he replied, “how long is this going to take?” 

“About two and half hours,” the doctor replied. 

“Is there going to be blood?” He said, getting sleepier. 

“You won’t notice,” Dr. Meyers replied, “but not very much at all.” 

“Will you give me my teeth back.”

“Sure,” he replied. “So, are you ready?”

“Like, am I ready for the surgery-surgery?”

“Yes.”

He looked around the large operating theater. He was surrounded by friendly people in what seemed to be a very fancy and sterile dentist surgery. In his not-very-clear state of mind, he had no choice but to say: “Yes, I’m ready to go.”   
He felt another needle go in his arm. This one really hurt. 

“That’s the anesthesia,” Dr. Naveen informed him. “Now take some deep breaths.” He placed a black oxygen mask over his face. John took a deep breath. As he exhaled, spots filled his vision. Everything got blurry, and all the sudden, the room went black.


	5. Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets out of surgery and reunites with Paul.

Nearly four hours passed before John woke up. Paul was told that this was totally normal, but it did not mean that those four hours were not particularly fun for Paul. He had spent the entirety of John’s surgery sitting in the waiting room, staring into space, his leg shaking, and his mind racing. He worried about Paul constantly. It wasn’t until about two and a half hours in that the doctors told him that John was out of surgery and he was okay. It was then that he started to relax. But then was told that John would not wake up for at least another hour, and this was torture for Paul. And after an hour when he still wasn’t up, he asked the doctor if anything was wrong. He was promptly told that John was doing perfectly fine, and that some patients take longer to wake up. Knowing John and his love of sleep, it wasn’t all that surprising that he gave himself an extra half hour of sleep. 

When he finally did come to, he found himself in a pale blue room, lying in a surprisingly comfy bed, with music playing in the background. He turned and saw Paul sitting in a nearby armchair fiddling with a transitar radio. 

“Paul?” His voice was a little bit froggy. 

“John!” He rushed over to his side. “You’re awake?” John nodded. 

“I’m guessing my surgery’s finished.”

“Yeah, and you did great! The doctors said they got all of your wisdom teeth out without a problem.” 

“Did I have fun?” John asked. 

Paul giggled. “You tell me?” 

John’s only memory of the last few hours was of lying in the operating theater, covered in layers of smocking, babbling with pretty nurses. “I guess it was pretty fun.”

“That’s a relief.” 

Paul stroked John’s hair. John began to close his eyes again. “Paulie, hon, don’t leave here okay.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “Well, visiting hours are over at 7, but I still have a few hours.” 

For a little while, John napped while Paul watched television. When John awoke again, he was a bit more lucid. 

“Paul, did I really get cut open?”

“Yeah,” Paul sighed, “You did. I think they said you had five incisions, but they were apparently teeny tiny ones.” 

“And I didn’t even noticed,” he actually smiled. Paul looked at him like he was nuts. 

“John, aren’t you horrified? I was horrified when I found out.”

“Paul, they cut me with knives, and I had no idea. I’m starting to be really glad I didn’t have to see Feldman. He would’ve stabbed me with those horrible screwdrivers, and I would’ve felt all of it.” 

“I guess.”

“Besides, I hate sitting through long dental procedures, and if I had to sit through two and a half hours--wait, was it really two and a half hours?” 

Paul nodded. 

“Anyway, if I had to stay in the chair for two and a half hours, I’d probably die.”

“Well, I guess Feldman was right about the shots. According to one of the nurses, they would’ve stuck you with so many needles.”

“Yeah, and I only had to get three so far.”

“Three?” Paul was appalled. “I thought it was only one.” 

“Nope. They took blood from me, gave me one IV, and then another one. I’m not sure why I needed two, but I got two.” 

“Wow,” Paul responded breathlessly, “that’s a lot.” 

“I mean, it only hurt like kinda a lot, but it wasn’t horrible. And besides, it’s way better than getting like eight Novocain shots.” 

“True,” Paul responded with a sigh. 

“I do have one question though--actually, I have like a thousand questions, but I’ll stick with one for now as I am so tired.”

“Yes?”

“How long am I stuck here?”

“They said since you don’t have an infection it’ll only be five days.”

“Five days!” 

Paul nodded sadly. 

John hated hospitals. He hated being in hospitals. But looking around his room, he realized that his accommodations weren’t that bad. He was in his own room. He had a TV. His bed was surprisingly comfortable. And there were some medical stuff around, but it wasn’t as off-putting as he thought it would be. But the best part was the bathroom. The room came with an ensuite bathroom that was complete with a shower, his own toilet, and a sink (which had no makeup residue once so ever). 

“Wait, I have my own bathroom?” Paul too saw the appeal. “No, line, no German women pushing us out of the way.”

“We can take an actual shower.”

“Wait, you’re going to use my bathroom?”

“You have this bathroom all to yourself for five days. Yeah, I’m going to take advantage of it.” 

John and Paul were both very excited about this bathroom. 

“You know, Paul, I’m starting to think this was all a blessing in disguise.”   
……

Paul had to leave at 7 on the dot. The nurse came in and told him he’d have to go and he can return at 11AM tomorrow if he likes. John remained in bed. His mouth was still a bit sore, but he felt much better than he had earlier. 

He was a bit reluctant to fall asleep in his hospital bed, but once he realized how tired he was, and how comfy it was, he was asleep by 9. 

 

The next morning, Paul arrived at 11 on the dot. He expected to find John lying in bed, probably moaning, and finding a million things to complain about. Instead, he found him sitting up in bed, a breakfast tray on his lap, reading the newspaper. 

“Oh, hello, Paul,” he said casually as if Paul had just walked over to John’s cot in the Bambi Kino. 

“John, did you sleep well?” Paul asked which, unlike most times he’s said it, felt like a real question. 

“I slept fine,” John replied. “In fact, I’m sure I slept better than you, tossing and turning on that cot.”

Paul couldn’t exactly disagree. 

“Well, how’s your mouth?”

John touched the side of his face. His cheeks were a little bit puffy, something he’d noticed last night, but he’d basically forgotten about as it caused him no pain. 

“My jaw’s a bit sore,” he responded. 

“But you look puffy.”

“The doc said it was normal. In fact, I kinda assumed a puffy face would be dreadful, but it’s been alright.”   
Paul was surprised at this, but he was quite relieved that John wasn’t in much pain. 

“So, what were you up to last night?” John asked him. Paul sat on the edge of the bed and began to tell him the details of their latest gig. Without John there, the band seemed quieter, and this led to some chanting and even some chairs being flipped. They made up for it though by doing some John-style stomping and shouting. 

After he was done, John asked him how he was feeling. 

“You’re asking me?” Paul asked bemusedly. 

“You just seem a little anxious.”

“Well, I was just worried about you is all. The last day or so have been a whirlwind. My head is still spinning.” 

John handed him a muffin from his breakfast tray. 

“I think we have no choice but to make the most of it while we’re here.” John held up a cup of jelly. He toasted Paul with his cup and Paul’s muffin. Paul, smirking, took a bite. 

Sighing, Paul replied, “I’m honestly relieved that you’re taking this well. I really thought you’d be miserable here.” 

“Well, thankfully I’m not miserable. Now, can we just hang out like we’re in some so-so hotel room and pretend that there isn’t a nurse lurking somewhere waiting to give me shots or something else horrible.”  
Paul nodded reassuringly. 

Paul informed him that he was planning on staying through lunch. Being that John normally has lunch at like 2 PM (if at all), Paul realized he’d be here for a while. 

After sitting together for a bit, a nurse did interrupt them. And to his dismay, she came with a needle. 

“I have to change your IV, love,” she said. John groaned loudly, but he didn’t actually object. He just stuck his arm out and waited. Paul, all the while, stood close by, his hand resting on John’s shoulder. 

The nurse fiddled with the IV, and John felt it slide out of his arm. He thought to himself, that wasn’t so bad, but he then felt the needle slide into his arm, and he winced. When she was done, it was only then that he realized he’d been holding his breath.   
Once she was gone, Paul began asking a bunch of questions. “Does she come in here a lot?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t always come bearing needles,” John responded dryly. 

“Does it hurt a lot?” 

“It hurts a bit,” John explained. “It hurts a lot less once it’s in. It just sort of feels uncomfortable and really only when I move my arm around.” 

“Do they ever take it out?” 

“They haven’t yet.” 

“Do you get scared every time they have to put one in?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m afraid, but I’m not thrilled either.” 

“What’s the worst part about being here?” 

“Definitely the surprise needle attacks. Honestly, I could handle a needle, but it’s the fact that they just come out of nowhere that’s so annoying.” 

John as he trailed off, poked at the catheter in his arm. There was a small army of bruises forming around the crook of his elbow. He looked on his other arm, and he saw the same sight. He counted them and realized he’d been poked at least 7 times since yesterday morning. 

“Yeah,” he concluded, “it’s quite shit.” Then, smirking, he said to Paul, “alright, since you’re playing twenty questions, why don’t I go a few rounds?” 

“You wanna ask questions?”

“Yes, you’re my link to the outside world.”

“Alright, go ahead.” 

“Are any of the big muscley guys we work for mad that I’m in here.”

“If they’re mad that you had a medical emergency, then they don’t have much of a leg to stand on. Besides, you called them and worked it out. And last night they didn’t seem to mind that we were one fella short.” 

“Well, tell me this, what do George and Pete think?”

“They think you’re more scared then you let on.”

John was geniunely offended. 

“I told them about the shots, and I said you weren’t bothered by them, and they were like ‘there’s no way that’s true, blah blah blah.”   
John laughed. 

“I’m so glad you were with me,” John said, becoming sincere. 

“Anytime, love.” 

…….

“This bathroom is amazing!” George exclaimed. He and Pete visited John for the second time in one day. It was day 3 in hospital, and John was happy to have visitors but bemused that George and Pete were primarily interested in John’s bathroom. 

“I mean, you could tell they just cleaned it,” Pete commented from inside the loo. He was just about to take a long shower. George was freshly showered. His hair was all washed. He was sitting next John’s bed in one of the bath robes. 

“It’s basically a free hotel,” George added. 

“Yes, and you seem to be enjoying the perks,” John said with a cup of tea in hand, a free magazine in his lap, and wearing a flannel bathrobe courtesy of the hospital. He had even picked up a few things from the gift shop--all for a discount. He paid basically nothing for a pair of tweezers, a box of matches, and two stuffed elephants. Paul, who, had left shortly after George and Pete came for the second visit, also hit up the gift shop on John’s patient discount. He grabbed a stuffed crab, two packets of malteasers, and a keychain. 

“You know, I always thought being hospital would be dreadful,” John said, then took a sip of his tea. “But, this has honestly been good fun.” 

“So, getting your teeth violently ripped out wasn’t torture?”

“Not at all,” John said with full confidence. George looked impressed. 

Pete emerged from the bathroom just then. 

“John, do you have anymore shampoo? You seemed to run out.”

John sighed heavily, and hit the call button. 

………

It was John’s fourth night in hospital. He was sat in the small bath (which was meant to really be a sit-down shower with some sort of a bar, but he ignored all that and took a traditional bath. He only had two more nights to go, and then it’d be back to the Bambi Kino. He’d back to fending off German women to get a morning shower. Despite the bad reputation hospitals have, he was going to miss this place. In spite of himself really, he had had a nice holiday after all.


End file.
